me beauty in a bottle, in the makeup section. It tells
me if validation is what I want to obtain
I should rob the ideas in my brain
of importance, after all their second to my bra size.
Every product seems to advertise
a sickly sweet
feeling of "pretty" and "complete."
I try to scream, "all I want to do is be me."
But expectations area a sea.
My heads underwater, I'm guaranteed to drown.
No one cares if I wear a frown
as long as it's covered in lipstick.
Acceptance is a cruel trick,
not a cherished prize.
It's not worth the disguise.